The Spotlight

Jason's latest experiment had not only gone viral but had also thrust him into an unexpected and dizzying spotlight. News outlets ran articles and short video segments about "The TikTok Professor", praising his ability to make science accessible and exciting. At the same time, academic circles began to stir with whispers of skepticism, questioning whether his methods and newfound fame were undermining the credibility of his field.

Jason sat in his office, scrolling through articles that ranged from glowing praise to thinly veiled criticism.

"Jason Welt's experiments have reignited public interest in physics, but are they scientifically sound?"

"The TikTok Professor: Genius or Gimmick?"

He sighed, setting his phone down. The attention was overwhelming, but it also meant one thing: people were listening. Still, the pressure from Dr. Emery was building, and Jason knew he was walking a fine line.

That morning, Jason's inbox pinged with a message that caught his attention. The subject line read: "Collaboration Opportunity – Scientific Horizons Journal."

Jason opened the email, his eyes widening as he read. The prestigious journal wanted to feature his work in an upcoming issue about the intersection of science and public engagement. They were intrigued by his experiments and wanted to include an interview alongside an analysis of his findings.

His pulse quickened. This was it—the validation he needed to prove that his work wasn't just viral entertainment but legitimate science.

Jason's excitement was short-lived. Another email arrived moments later, this time from Dr. Emery. The tone was cold, cutting:

"Jason, I strongly advise against participating in any public-facing interviews or publications. This will only exacerbate the issues you've created for yourself and the department. Focus on your responsibilities or prepare for the consequences."

Jason leaned back in his chair, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. Accepting the journal's offer could solidify his work's legitimacy, but it would also risk everything—his position, his funding, his professional relationships. Yet, the alternative—stopping now—felt unthinkable.

Jason stood at the front of his Physics 101 classroom, the words oscillation and resonance written on the whiteboard in bold, confident strokes. Behind him, the projector hummed, displaying a diagram of a pendulum swinging back and forth. The room buzzed softly with energy—not the distracted murmur of students counting down minutes until the bell, but something more charged, more alive.

"Alright, team," Jason said, clapping his hands. "Let's settle down. Today, we're diving into oscillations—how energy moves back and forth in a system. Springs, pendulums, sound waves, even light waves. Oscillations are everywhere."

He turned to the diagram, picking up a marker. "Here's a simple example: a pendulum. When it swings, energy shifts between potential energy—when it's at the top of its arc—and kinetic energy—when it's moving the fastest at the bottom. This constant back-and-forth is what we call oscillation."

Jason glanced at the room. Most of the students were at least pretending to pay attention, but a few were actually leaning forward, their pens moving in sync with his words.

"Now, what happens when you push a swing at just the right moment, over and over again?" Jason asked, turning back to the class.

A hand shot up from the middle row. "It goes higher?"

"Exactly!" Jason pointed at the student. "You've just described resonance. When you apply a force at the natural frequency of an object, the energy builds, amplifies. That's how we get massive oscillations in bridges, buildings, even sound systems."

He paused, waiting for the room to settle again. "Resonance is powerful. It's how opera singers can shatter glass. It's why certain notes make your chest vibrate at a concert. It's how energy flows—and grows—through the universe."

Jason clicked to the next slide, showing a diagram of sound waves moving through air. "Let's shift gears. Sound waves are oscillations, too. When they move through a medium like air or water, they create ripples—patterns. And those patterns can tell us a lot about the properties of the medium itself."

He was about to continue when Emily raised her hand in the back row. "Professor Welt?" she asked.

Jason nodded. "Go ahead, Emily."

She hesitated for a moment, then said, "Is that what you're doing in your videos? Using sound waves to make those water patterns?"

The room buzzed with murmurs. Jason blinked, caught slightly off-guard. "Well, yes," he admitted, setting the marker down. "That's exactly what I'm doing. The patterns you've seen are created by sound waves passing through water. The frequencies I use determine the shapes."

Another hand shot up. "But why do they look like... I don't know, nature?" the student asked. "Like spirals and stuff?"

Jason glanced at the clock, debating whether to stick to his lecture plan or dive into this unexpected but intriguing line of questioning. He made his decision.

"Alright," he said, stepping away from the podium. "Let's talk about it."

Jason grabbed a piece of chalk and sketched a simple spiral on the board. "Some of the patterns you've seen, like spirals, aren't just random shapes. They're part of what we call the Fibonacci sequence—a mathematical pattern that shows up all over nature."

He turned to face the class. "Seashells, pinecones, hurricanes, even galaxies—they all follow this spiral structure. It's a blueprint for how energy and matter organize themselves."

A student in the front row raised their hand. "So, when you're making those patterns in water, are you... unlocking nature's code or something?"

The room fell silent, every eye fixed on Jason. He smiled faintly, shaking his head. "Not exactly. I'm not unlocking anything that wasn't already there. But what I'm doing is amplifying it—using sound to make the patterns visible. It's like shining a flashlight into a dark room. The shapes were always there; we just couldn't see them."

Jason could feel the shift in the room. For the first time in weeks, the students weren't just listening—they were engaged, leaning forward, asking questions faster than he could answer.

"Do different frequencies make different shapes?"

"What's the highest frequency you've tested?"

"Is there a frequency that makes water boil faster?"

Jason laughed at the last one. "Not that I've found, but who knows? Maybe you'll be the one to figure that out."

As the bell rang, Emily lingered near his desk. "Professor Welt," she said, holding up her phone. "Your videos are inspiring a lot of people. My little brother tried recreating your experiment in our kitchen last night. He said it was the coolest science thing he's ever done."

Jason smiled, her words settling over him like a warm blanket. "That's great to hear, Emily. Keep encouraging him—and let me know if he finds anything interesting."

As she left, Jason glanced back at the whiteboard, the spiral he'd sketched earlier still faintly visible. For the first time, he felt like his teaching and his experiments weren't at odds—they were two sides of the same coin, resonating together.